Quello che siete fummo, quello che siamo sarete
by SuperiorDimwit
Summary: What you are, we once were; what we are you will become.
1. I

**A/N:** Experimental fic I've wanted to write for a while. Will be updated the times when my head isn't screwed on right. **Warnings** for bad language, un-gory gore and unsympathetic characters. And warnings for being experimental, I suppose.

* * *

><p><em>What's the hurry?<em>  
><em>Live a little<em>  
><em>Sure, I'm gonna do it<em>  
><em>later<em>  
><em>Gimme a break, will ya?<em>  
><em>I won't forget,<em>  
><em>Of course I'll do it<em>  
><em>later<em>

* * *

><p>This is… what is this crap? m'I tripping or something?<p>

"Hello?"

I cringe and shut my mouth. There's way too quiet here, my voice sounds like an air raid siren. Speaking of air raids, what the hell is up with the sky? Why's the sky red? What the fuck is this place?

And how did I get here?

I… I must've been drugged or something. Someone spiked my booze at Barney's while I took a leak – 'cept I don't remember going to the bar. Last thing I remember is thinking I had that overdue phone bill to pay. Did I pay that…? I put it on the fridge so I wouldn't forget about it, but I can't remember…  
>I've got my sweatpants on, and a grey tee with food stains on it. I can't have been at the bar, must've been home. Then how the fuck did they get in to grab me?<p>

"Um, hello…?"

Who're you trying to fool, boy? There's no one here, just red sky and grey sand. There's not even roads or tire tracks.

How the fuck did they get me here?

Screw that, I need to get _out _of here. I don't know how far it is to the closest town, but sun's almost set and I don't wanna find out what kind of shit roams this place at night. Getting pictures of those giant sand worms from _Dune _here and that isn't exactly any pleasant- ah _fuck_! What's with this sand?! It's like grains of _glass_ dammit!

"Next time I'm getting kidnapped I'm wearing shoes." That would be a cool line. If there was anyone around to hear it.

Whatever. I try my best to sit down smoothly to have a look at my feet but end up dropping my fat ass into the glass-sand with a thump. God bless sweatpants: ugly as hell but at least they're thick and soft.

"Wouldn't it be fucking brilliant to get tetanus on top of all this?"

Not that I can get tetanus – got a shot for that when I was little – but it's not like I know any other illnesses you catch from getting dirt in a cut. Oh, yeah, you can get flesh-eating bacteria. Wouldn't that be just the thing to ice the cake with?

"What… the fuck…?"

I brushed the grains off my foot with my pant leg. There's still some larger bits stuck that I have to get out with my fingers, but I only plucked a couple. There's no blood. I know I've got calluses, but I even try squeezing the skin around the cut. And there's not a single drop of blood.

"Oh this is messed up man, this is so messed up…"

I pull out another shard, wait for the longest time for blood. I mean, the pain is real… right? I feel it sting, just like it should, but…

My gaze shifts to the shard. I squeeze it. Yeah, it's real. It's not glass now that I look at it; more like a sharp splinter of stone.

I lick my parched lips. The thought freaks me out, man. I had friends who were into cutting in high school but I never felt the need. I could never do something like that. But I gotta know. I gotta push this thing into my flesh so I know for sure.

Why doesn't it bleed?

* * *

><p>I discovered the most messed up thing just now. I mean this whole place is messed up but this<em> doesn't make sense!<em>

I found Adnan's toy panda. That thing from the World Wildlife Fund he used to have on his desk. I _know _it's the same one 'cause it has that little crocheted jumper his daughter made for it. I found it here in the sand. Don't know how the fuck it got there but I'm starting to see it now. Adnan's behind this. He's figured out it was me and he wants to pay me back.

Except that doesn't make sense either.

Adnan's a freakin' _lab technician_ for Christ's sake! He doesn't have the cash to stage something like this! You can't even control the effects of a hallucinogenic this closely! I don't know _what _you'd need to stage this! I've walked my tee to shreds but nothing around has changed. I'm gonna have to rip up my sweatpants and bind around my feet next – but hey, doesn't matter does it? There's no one here who could see my naked butt. Just a big grey fucking desert.

Just you and me, Panda.

* * *

><p>I just want to wake up. Please. I want to wake up now.<p>

Please…?

I've been walking on my pants for some time now. They're shredding bit by bit in this sand ocean hell. I don't know what I'm gonna do when they're worn out too. It's going to hurt. It's going to hurt so bad. I'm not going to bleed but it's going to _hurt._

Why don't I bleed, Panda? Why am I not hungry?

Panda…?

* * *

><p>I'm in a coma. I must be, it's the only explanation I can think of. I'm in a coma and I'm dreaming weird shit. Maybe I'm ill or something. I think… they're amputating my feet at the hospital…<p>

* * *

><p>I… I can't cry… I wanna cry so badly and I keep pushing my face into Panda's fur but nothing comes nothing's there there's nothing inside of me. No blood, no tears, no…<p>

No feet.

_It hurts_.

I don't know where I am or how far it's left and it _hurts…!_

"I'm sorry Adnan! It was me! I didn't send the test results on time and I changed the records so you got the blame for it! I'm SORRY! Sorry doesn't cut it, I know, I _know_…! But I didn't think the patient would die and I didn't think they'd fire you for it and I- I was gonna clear it up with you when things had settled down but then you moved, and I was gonna look up your new address but things got in the way and… and…"

…sound? Where? Is someone coming?

"He-hello?!" Hope. Hope's the last thing that leaves man and sweet lord could I use some hope right now! "Anyone there?! Help! I'm over here! Help me!"

The sounds come from the sky, could be a helicopter. I start waving my arms, waving Panda – I feel like crying again. It's over, finally. I'll get out of here. I'll go home. It's like a dream.

It's like a nightmare.

The things that land before me look like grasshoppers. Big fucking grasshoppers standing up on their hind legs. Grasshoppers don't have six eyes. I don't know why the fuck I'm thinking about that now but I know they don't and before I think anything else I turn and run. No pain just fucking run faster than I've ever-

I fall headlong into the stone shards. I've got no toes left. The sand has been grinding down the bone of my heels for a while now.

I squeeze Panda tightly in my hand and scramble back up on my… "feet".


	2. II

_I could tell she wanted it_  
><em>all painted lips and swaying hips<em>  
><em>that's not a no<em>  
><em>And out alone<em>  
><em>on dance floor heels?<em>  
><em>Just sayin' it<em>  
><em>that's not a no<em>  
><em>I'm only human, honey<em>  
><em>I've got human needs<br>_

* * *

><p>My fingers are unsteady when I adjust my necktie. My tie doesn't matter anymore, of course, but habits die hard. Apparently, they might even outlive the ones who maintain them.<p>

I have no illusions of what this is. My fingers are gnarled and speckled with miscoloured spots: age's kind reminder of what it does to us. I was on my deathbed, surrounded by machines and Joachim, and Alexis and Iris and their little baby girl. That's the last thing I remember. Now I stand in a desolate, unfamiliar landscape that doesn't seem earthly.

"And it doesn't look like Heaven", I murmur sombrely; the silence is oppressive after being accustomed to the constant whirring and beeping of hospital machines.  
>It doesn't look like Hell either: the thought gives some degree of comfort. At least not the pit of fire that old scholars envisioned. For that I am grateful, but these billowing stretches of nothing but sand fill me with an ominous feeling. I never liked sand. I never liked the ocean. The vastness of it unsettled me. Those dark depths looked like they could swallow anything.<p>

I… walk. My god, it's… I was in a wheelchair last time I was outside. But here I can walk. Even if it isn't Heaven there's miracles.

There seems to be nothing to do but walk. That or standing still. I see nothing here except the sand and something in the distance that could be rocks. So, walk it is. I might as well enjoy the feeling of that, for I already feel a chilling discomfort creeping up on me. Whatever this place is, it isn't restful. It's both too quiet and too empty to offer any feeling of security. Too… vast.

* * *

><p>I wonder how long has passed on earth since I died. Maybe I'm still at the hospital? Maybe I'm lying in a coffin in church? Or in a freezer room. It's… so hard to imagine.<p>

I had made peace with life. I was ready to go. I was ready to _end_.

I arranged to be dressed for the funeral while I was still dying, to have the comfort of dying in something other than a hospital gown and to save my children some trouble. I had arranged to say _goodbye_; not to be brought back to consciousness like this. My children, my grandchild, they were all… It wasn't supposed to be like this. I was supposed to-

Isn't that…? Is the light playing tricks on me? Over there in the sand, that is… that is Juliane's wedding bouquet. I remember it. She wanted pink roses with the lilies but the delivery had run late, so we got yellow ones…

Is she here…?

"Juliane…?"

* * *

><p>I'm in Hell. There are no more doubts, no more hopes to deny it. I saw them. <em>Them<em>. Thank God I was far away. I haven't dared move since, I still sit pressed against this jutting rock and fear that every breath will give me away. I know what happens if they find me. I saw it.

I was going to wait until night and move unseen, but the sky is still red as if the sun was just about to set. I can't even say for sure if there _is _a sun. There is no day and night here. No respite, not even the brief escape of sleep. I don't think the creatures here sleep either.

It probably doesn't matter whether I stay in one place or move about, but moving eases the mind somewhat. I stay close to these islands of rock; the sand ocean is vast, easy to be spotted in. I hated the ocean. I never took Alexis and Joachim to the ocean. Juliane took them there while I…

I…

Why is that there? Why's it sitting on that rock? Did someone put it there so I would see it?

"Show yourself!"

Idiot! Did something hear? Is there something nearby? None of the beasts are in sight when I dart a glance over the jagged crest of the rock, but I can't stay. I can't let them find me. I jog from outcropping to outcropping, eyes skipping from place to place – I stumble, and the sharp grains bury like needles in my palms. No blood. Only pain.

Is that all I have left?

* * *

><p>That apron on the rock, it haunts me even as I move. It just sat there - I don't know why I took it. She always hung that apron on the clothes' line when her husband wasn't home. No one knew our signal, no one knew that we… No, it can't be real. This light plays tricks on you. There's no shadows falling from the rocks. This whole place is out to twist one's head.<p>

I hate to think it, but maybe a pit of flames would have been better in the end.

* * *

><p>It's strange to think that life goes on as usual while I'm here. That my sons have coffee with their lunch bagels, still take out trash and wash their cars, while I'm here. I shouldn't hate them but I do. It's not their fault I'm here but it's… It's not fair. They shouldn't just leave me here. I was a good father. Not the best husband but I <em>was <em>a good father! Doesn't that count for anything? Is there no way to make up for mistakes? No forgiveness? They always spoke of forgiveness! What happened to that?! Where's my forgiveness?!

Just give me a chance… please…?

* * *

><p>There's no day or night. No order or reason or anything for the mind to measure by. There's only a long, continuous nightmare of paranoia.<p>

Nobody could ever deserve this.

I sit looking at the same godforsaken sand ocean I've been surrounded by since I came here. I tried to take out the shards from my hands, but some of them are in too deep. I didn't bleed. At first I found that a relief, thinking I wouldn't have to worry about infection and disease. Now when I look at my hands I wish they could have bled instead. It's been… long. I don't know how long – I doubt it matters. The flesh hasn't closed. The pain doesn't stop.

I see it clearer and clearer. The brilliance. The design. Yes, I see it. Eternal torture, without even the comfort of a torturer to hate.

Surely this proves there is a god?

* * *

><p>My hands… my hands… They disgust me. I don't want them to be part of me. The palms are like flesh imitations of Swiss cheese; Swiss cheese with buckshot pepper grains glittering inside. It's surreal. The feeling when I prod them and the nubs of meat wiggle…<p>

My meat. My dead, unbleeding, unhealing meat.

* * *

><p>I'm glad I died with shoes on. The soles might wear down with time, but I'm glad.<p>

Time. Does it even matter here? I'm dead, this is Hell. The only thing time does is prolong my suffering. The longer I run from the demons the longer it will last, and still… I was ready to die peacefully in my hospital bed. I don't think I'm ready to die with an arm through my chest and a hungry demon panting in my face. No, I don't want to die like that.

_Sweet God I don't want to die like that!_

It's not like it would end there, is it? That isn't the design. There's worse things waiting after you get eaten, I know it. Who do they think they're fooling? This won't end. Ever.

* * *

><p>Haha, it won't end! Immortal in eternity and Life everafter, the Kingdome come - I see it now! You thought you could fool me?! I see Your great design, Almighty! I see it and I embrace it!<p>

* * *

><p>I was blind in life, but I see now. I am the Prophet and I have the eyes of God within me. God is in me, and I am in God, and God wants a good fuck. God has been waiting a long time for a fuck with all those fine nurses at the hospital and no private time for me and you, old fellow. We have all eternity now just to ourselves.<p>

We have all eternity and I will give you all the action you've ever wanted.


	3. III

_Supply and demand_  
><em>the starved with need<em>  
><em>the full with more<em>  
><em>the<em>  
><em>mercantile utopia will<em>  
><em>supply and demand<em>  
><em>sustenance<em>  
><em>from her drones, and I<em>  
><em>supply my demand<em>  
><em>to be supplied<br>_

* * *

><p>So this is it? No welcoming barbecue party? No smoking hot devil chicks? And here I thought I was good at being an asshole…<p>

I always knew I was going to hell if there was one – got told that by quite a few, too – but this place really doesn't deserve the advertising it gets. Just-

"God! Fuck!"

Okay. No fire, but razor sharp dirt: one point to the devil, zero to me. If there is a devil. Looks pretty darn barren here to me. Riiight… am I supposed to just stand here and wait? Can't exactly move around. Or… maybe I can…

'Necessity is the mother of invention' but right now I could fuck Necessity up her dry, sarcastic cunt. Move shirt, step on it; move pants, step on them; move shirt – this is going at snail pace! And I'm naked. And there's no hot devil chicks. There's not even dramatic doom-ish background music. Hell sucks. And I was about to land _such_ a good deal in Nigeria! Fuck Africa and its fucking niggers with their fucking parasite infections! I could'a been a millio- _billionaire _right now!

I was big, man. I was gonna be the top dog, live the dream; have five cars and a hot wife and eight yappy little Yorkshire terriers that crapped all over my neighbour's lawn. There's two kinds of people in the world: the rich guy with eight yappy terriers and the guy who gets to pick up the shit from the rich guy's eight yappy terriers. That's the world between your thumb and index finger: hierarchy. Those who're on top and those who're below. And I was gonna make it to the top or die trying.

Turns out I did. What a fucking joke. Ha ha. My ex-girlfriend would've loved that one.

Maaaaan wonder what they're doing with all my cash now. I didn't write any friggin' will. Why didn't I write a friggin' will? 'cause I wasn't going to friggin' die of some stupid disease at thirty six!

That's what we all go around thinking, isn't it? "It doesn't happen to me." "Five people in the world die of this thing every year what're the odds it's gonna be me?"

I always fucking hated people who went around pointing out that we think like that. I hate them even more when they're right. It's the same people that go around talking about climate awareness and sustainable living and "it's your future too haven't you thought about that?" Bitching self-righteous fuckers. Why aren't _they _here, huh? There should be a spot in hell reserved for all those holier-than-thou pricks that look down on everyone else. Hah, the looks on their faces! What about sustainable living now, eh? Can't have thought so much about your future if you ended up here, eh?

Fuck this place.

* * *

><p>I don't know how long I've been in this shit hole. I made it to these rocks and I'm not going one step farther – can't go another step farther, for that matter. I've got this fucking shrapnel sand in my feet and it hurts like fuck. I hate this shit. I'm just gonna sit here on my ass and wait for the devil or his granma to come pick me up. It's not like I need to eat or sleep or anything. I'll be fine.<p>

* * *

><p>I would give half my fucking market shares for some of that anaesthetic gel stuff dentists give you before they prick you with the needle. Half my shares, I'm not even joking, my feet hurt that fucking much. What's the name of that stuff anyway? Xylo… phone? Xylocardine? Xylo…<p>

* * *

><p>Xylo-fucking-mega-phone. Give me <em>anything<em> and I'll be happy, man. This place is fucking crawling up under my skin and all I can do is sit on this rock like some bloody Little Mermaid statue and look pretty in my dainty little hospital loincloth.

I used to think hell was about physical torture. It ain't. It just slowly eats into your skull and makes you lose it.

* * *

><p>…well I'll be a fucking coconut.<p>

"Hey! Hey, you over there!" Quit looking around like that, who the fuck else do you think I'm talking to? "I'm over here!"

I feel like bloody Robinson Crusoe seeing another human being for the first time in twenty years. Well who cares. There's another human coming over to my little rock island and this beggar ain't gonna be a fucking chooser.

Guy looks like total shit. I've seen bums sleeping in their own piss that look better than that. It's an old man in something that looks like it used to be a pretty decent suit, but I'm guessing Razor Sand happened.

He's got shoes, though… He can walk through this shit like just another beach stroll…

"Hey there, granpa! You're the first human being I've seen in this hellhole."

God, he looks like a coke head. He's got that haunted look they get when they haven't had a line for a while and start to feel the itch. And he's old and puffy and probably needs diapers. Alright, just be civil. He looks like he's been here longer than you, he might know some tips and tricks.

"Holy shit! What the hell?!"

Did the guy just fucking kick sand at me?! Why not spray me with acid you old son of a bitch – that would hurt less!

"You're real, then?" the crazy fuck asks, sounding like he's been lining his throat with this razor sand. He's ducked down behind a rock, but now he looks at me like I'm some kind of rare hallucination – and _he's_ the guy with a bunch of flowers in his hand and some untied apron round his neck.

"Yeah, I'm real."

It's so fucking disgusting when old people's eyelids start to sag like that and you get that pink wet half moon under their eyes. Christ's sake, plastic surgery can't be that expensive. Who'd want to walk around looking like a bloodhound?

"Oh. I'm sorry. Sometimes they look like humans, that's all."

"Who does?"

Now he looks at me like I'm the one hallucinating. …and scratches his balls. And I'm not talking about a quick just-adjusting-the-jewels here, he's taking his merry time _rubbing _his hand in his crotch like it's nothing out of the ordinary.

I get this yucky feeling I can guess what got him to this place.

"The demons", he replies, and that floppy turkey neck skin jerks under his chin. Gross.

"So there _are _demons here? Whaddaya know – I was starting to think I'd gotten to the wrong place. Could've said 'nice meeting ya', but I guess this is the last place you'd want to meet at. Still. I'm Peder; you…?"

I thrust a hand out and flash my business grin. I know how to talk to people. I just have to tell myself this guy is "people" and that the hand I'm shaking hasn't just been rubbed in his wrinkly old man balls.

…what the _fuck _is wrong with his hand?

"I'm… Claude", he says, sounding like he's surprised to even have a name.

Am I gonna become like that if I stay here…? It's like going senile and then nuts and then- Yeah that does sound like hell.

"Right. Claude – that French? Well, I suppose that doesn't matter anymore. Come, sit down." I pat the stone next to me and try to discreetly wipe my hand on it at the same time. His palm felt like some rubber toy a fighting dog mauled. "It's not like we've much else to do in this place but to swap stories, eh? What'cha here for, granpa?"

"Rape. Maybe adultery. Maybe both – I don't know."

"Forgot to ask at the reception desk?"

It's like trying to make a fish smile. The most dead fucking fish you ever saw. He just keeps staring at me with that creepy-ass drug addict gaze. I'm not even sure he's picking up on what I'm saying. And he makes these disgusting noises, like he's slurping in his own saliva and swallowing _the whole damn time._

"She was pretty. I was drunk – a little. I just assumed… she wanted it." I get the irrational thought that I'm on a movie shooting and that I'm watching the main character psychopath practicing his lines to get that creepy monotone right. This is _exactly _like that. Except Claude's real. "Or maybe… I wanted it, and therefore I told myself that she wanted it."

Give the man the Nobel prize, someone: he just cracked the ages old question of why men become rapists. And if he ever did star in a film he should be given an Oscar, 'cause that staring, haunted gaze and that monotone are some of the creepiest things I've seen.

"I think you're onto something there, granpa. Me, well – if I'd chance a guess I'm here for being a greedy son of a bitch. All businessmen are, so at least I'll have the pleasure of seeing my competitors here sooner or later. I was into oil. North Africa. Loooads of cash to be made, if you could just get the indigenous off your land. And now I'm here", I finish with a grandiose, self-ironic gesture at my loinclothed Little Mermaid impersonation. "Done in by some damn mosquito. So, how did you die? Well, sorry if it's a touchy subject, but you can't blame a guy for being curious." I sweep my hand at him instead of me. "In what kind of situation does a guy die in suit and apron? Cooking accident at the dinner party?"

Claude doesn't catch on this time either. I'm giving up on this guy, man. I feel some cheesy pun about "dead serious" itching in the back of my mouth but fuck it, it'll be a while before I'm _that _desperate.

"They haven't come to you yet?" the guy says at long last. As if I'm supposed to understand _exactly _what he means by that.

"Who has? The demons?"

"These." Claude puts his wedding bouquet to his apron and I'm not two shits wiser.

"Flowers? No I haven't seen any flowers around. No wardrobes or kitchens either, but I wouldn't say no if you could show me where I'd find that."

"In your mind." Oh sweet, go _Matrix_ on me – there is no spoon, but feel free to help yourself to some flowers if you can convince yourself they exist. "Hell is in our minds. Then it turns inside out. Then we're in hell, and these things drop out of our minds."

Right. Giving up on having a normal conversation with this guy. I could have this kind of chat with my ex-girlfriend sometimes. She'd read books by Coelho-something and every time she did she wanted to hold some kind of book review session about expanding one's mind and view of the world. It always ended with me zoning out and humming in agreement to how "deep" it was. She would probably think Claude was deep. But you know what? Get too "deep" and the pressure will crush your skull: plain, trusty physics.

"Do you feel it yet?"

And there we are: I zoned out. What's he talking about now?

"Feel what?"

Creepy old fucking man: all that's missing is the milky eye and he'd be the ideal horror movie actor. Won't he stop rubbing his balls all the time? While he's looking at me and slurping? I swear to god, if he's one of those homo rapists I'll beat him down and choke him with his apron without a moment's hesitation.

"Your sin." I do _not _like that feverish glaze over his eyes. Actually there isn't a single thing I like about this old creep except that he has shoes. "Do you feel it? That's what we are, when we come here. We're purified, until we become the sin. You see?"

Yeah, I see. Now that he's sitting down I see the boner poking a tent in the apron. That sick son of a bitch.

And I can't get away from him, because he has the shoes.

"No, I haven't felt any sin. It's not like money's gonna do me any good here anyway, is it?"

The bastard is rubbing his dick again and he doesn't even seem to notice what he's doing. Just stares at me. If a woman stared at me like that it would be hot, but this is just _wrong_. All of him is wrong. Hell or not, you don't fucking start jerking yourself off while staring at somebody's face like that.

"When you feel it I'll help you. We can help each other." He wets his lips, and I'm tensing up to hit him if he makes a move. "I can't do this myself, I've been- I've been trying for a _long _time." This is the first time he smiles. I wish he hadn't. "I can't finish it off, not by hand. If you help me out now, I'll help you out later. Right? We will help each other. We will survive this and come out pure. Right?"

This is the moment I truly realise that I'm not on earth anymore. I think. A crazy old homo in a suit is asking me to blow him while he's jerking himself off through a kitchen apron. In the desert.

"You'll help me if I help you?"

Now that part, I get. That's business: supply and demand, service and payment. That's my game.

And I ain't gonna fucking go near a wrinkly gay dick.

"Yes. I help you and you- I mean you help me and I help you, yes", he nods so fervently I can almost hear his fake teeth rattle. He forgets his slurping and gets that gross quiver in his lips like some mental patient about to have a seizure.

"Of course I'll help you – Claude." I barely remember his name in time but throw in a charming smile to cover it up. "That's how we survive here, right? That's how we'll make it through, right?" I don't know if he's really hearing me, but he keeps nodding and his hand jerks faster so I guess some part of what I say is getting through. "Just sit right there and I'll help you o- Ah, dammit! Looks like you'll have to help me a bit already, Claude. Can I borrow your shoes so I can get a good position?"

"Of course, of course!"

He's been having a _long _dry spell if he's that stupid. But hey, I'm not complaining. The faggot is undoing his shoelaces and I'm scanning the place for the best route to take away from here. I'm not staying another second once I've got those shoes on.

"Thanks. You're a great guy, Claude. See ya!"

The shoes are a bit small but who cares? I can walk and the faggot can't.

There comes a shriek like I-don't-know-what from behind, and next thing I know I stumble from the weight of Claude latching onto me like a fucking leech. He's just a bag of bird bones underneath that suit but _holy fucking shit he's humping me?!  
><em>  
>"Get the hell off!"<p>

"You have to help me!"

"I'm not gonna fucking help you!"

He keeps howling about help and dry humping my leg, and when the old faggot actually _trips _me into that needle bed of a ground I just lose it. I fucking lose it, man. The razor sand goes straight into my knuckles when I punch his face in but I don't fucking give a damn. I punch. Lowlife is lowlife and I'm the top dog – dead or not fucking dead, I'm on top and that piece of paedophile crap deserves far worse than I can dish out to hi- Oh god the apron has slipped and his dick is out like a shredded earth worm. Holy _hell _that's the most disgusting thing I've ever- The sick fuck tried to jerk himself off even when he had splinters in his palms?

"You sick bastard." I honestly can't look at it, I'll fucking throw up. _God… _"You sick bastard…"

I leave him on the ground. He's going to look like a porcupine if he ever gets up, but that's not my problem. This is hell. Every man for himself – and people like him deserve hell. People like him are barely fucking people at all. I'll go find a nice spot to settle down on and then I'll have myself a good time picking these splinters out of my arms and forget every memory of shredded paedophile dicks. God, my hands hurt. Damn Hollywood, making fist fights look all easy-peasy. Nicholas Cage wouldn't look so tough in reality if he had-

Oh. Oh _shit_.

Yeah, they look like humans. If it weren't for the horns and the ears they could've been human. Almost.

_What the fuck do I do now?_

"Wait!" The short one who looks like some teenage punk took a step but actually stopped when I held up my hands. I just hope to high heaven they can understand what I say. "Is there… Is there anything I can do for you?"

I can do this, I gotta believe I can. Be smart, Peder. Everybody wants something. You can always deal with somebody who wants something.

The punk just snorts derisively; he's got this wild look about him that I don't like. Bad vibes there. He's the kind that would corner you in a dark alley with a maniac grin on his face – not for the money, no no, this guy would mug you for the kick of watching you piss yourself. The other one feels more like the negotiating type. She's all blue, like something out of Hindu mythology, and she seems to really fancy bells; they're all over her clothes.

"You can put up some resistance", the punk suggests with that kind of sadistic grin you don't get outside Disney movies. Yeah I was right about that one. The little freak would've torn me apart in a blink if Blue Lady hadn't held out a jingling hand – claw – to stop him.

"You want souls? Is that what you want? I can get you that."

"So can we. Why would we need to go through you?" she says and I know right away she's the same as her buddy, just a different way of getting off. This is the female Bond villain kind that doesn't carve you up right away, just drags the knife over your skin and tells you about every little cut she's going to make when she turns you into Peking duck.

For the first time it really hits me. I'm in Hell. _Actual _Hell.

"Well, it's a matter of convenience, miss." Focus, Peder, focus. Keep your voice steady. Easy does it, mate, you can do this. Can't miss the deal of a lifetime. "Same reason we humans build convenience stores to get our food from instead of going out hunting in the woods." Do they even know what a convenience store is? Fuck it, just keep going and don't lose the flow. "I've got a soul waiting for you right there behind the rocks, all yours. I can get you more, if you let me." If you let me live. I can't get the whole sentence out, my throat's tight as a straw. I bet they can hear my pulse racing two hundred kilometres per hour.

And they just stand there, shooting each other looks and smirks. I'm a rat stuck with two cats and I'm fucked.

"Why don't you show us that soul."

Oh she's good. In a bad way. I hold a reputation as a business shark – not to brag – but in this company I'm a school kid on educational visit. It's not a question when she asks, it's not an assent that she'll accept my offer. She wants to see my goods, and she'll walk off with them without paying if she feels like it.

I lead them over to the rocks where I left the faggot lying, and every step of the way I hear the shrill jingle of Blue Lady's bells. Like being stalked by a rattlesnake.

I didn't get a good look at Claude before I left. He looks about as shitty as I'd pictured. From the looks of it he hasn't gotten up yet 'cause he doesn't want to move around in the razor sand too much. He's panting and convulsing… Is he crying? I don't get what's going on, there's no tears or anything but his face is scrunched up and his lips drawn back like he's crying, and I guess those spasms he's having could be sobs. As soon as he sees my company he gets a fire under his ass, though.

I jump him before he can scramble up on his feet. He's not going anywhere. Not when my fucking life depends on him.

I look absolutely pathetic, I realise somewhere in between the flailing arms and legs. The old faggot gets some crazy kind of death-angst-adrenaline-rush and fights me nail and tooth, and all I can do is fight back and grab whatever extremity I can get my hands on to hold him in place. I'm no brawler and this is as far from MMA and pro wrestling as you get but the prize is way more than those knuckleheads could ever get into their concussion-scarred brain tissues. This is the struggle for survival, and for one split-second blaze of a moment I feel it, I am one with all the hairy, grunting man-apes that clubbed each other to death for a shot at passing their genes forward to create the grappling bag of dead meat that is me, and I _feel _it. I'm enlightened. I'm alive – more alive than when I lived – and it's kill or be killed.

I'll get eaten unless I keep this fucker on the mat, okay? I've got a shredded paedophile cock poking at my thigh, okay? _Okay? _That is not fucking okay in any fucking dimension, and I go off again. I see red, man: I'm a Neanderthal, I'm a firework – one of those big ones thicker than your arm – and I'm going off on this disgusting shit's face and I'm gonna _live_.

I come to again when he doesn't move anymore. Did a number on that one. His skin is split everywhere – on his lips, over his eyebrow, on his jaw – and I swear I can see bone shining through on a scraped cheek. My hands feel like I've been packing fresh asphalt with them. Fuck you, Nicholas Cage.

"What do you think?" I hear her voice behind me. She's amused. I'm sure two guys fighting for their lives must look very amusing.

"He's funny – I say we keep him. Hey, Gluttony: move it."

"Gluttony…?" I can only assume he's talking to me, since Blue Lady doesn't respond to it.

"Your sin. Gluttony." A pair of legs in denim jeans appear in the periphery of my vision and a foot – they walk around in this shit barefoot? – shoves me off the prone body.

I forget myself. I brace the fall with my hand. _God_. I think of Claude's palms and then of Claude's dick and I feel like puking; but I'm not stupid enough to snap at a demon. He bends down to look at the body, cocking his head from side to side like, I don't know, an owl or something. His nostrils are flaring. He's got four nostrils, I realise. They all quirk upwards when he suddenly crinkles his nose.

"Lust. All yours."

"Told you~"

Blue Lady jingles when they switch places. She's barefoot, too – and when I look closely I swear I can see small cuts in her soles closing up as soon as her foot leaves the ground.

Then I don't look anymore, 'cause the moment her hand rams through the faggot's ribcage and it just _cracks _I can't hold it in any longer. I turn my head and puke. I try to. I feel the gag and I feel the burning of acid steaming up my throat but nothing comes out. Not even that icky string of saliva that dribbles out when you've emptied all there is in your stomach. I get _nothing_.

But I _want _to.

The hell is that sound…? Or, or thrumming or whatever it is.

Reminds me of freight trains. Freight trains create that kind of sound, when there's just vibrations and you can't tell if it's sound waves or if it's the ground shaking and you're shaking with it. Blue Lady lifts the vibration out of Claude's busted, hyperventilating chest like it's a wounded bird and brings it to her mouth. Or maybe it's wind and not vibration. I don't know what it is, though I can guess. The more that flows into her mouth, the more does Claude's twitching, writhing flesh turn grey, then crack, then... _oh god his eyes are cracking like fucking windshields in a car crash_

There's the sound of marbles clattering against each other, or rain coming down real hard and real fast on roof tiles. The husk collapses in on itself in a million tiny, grey, shattered… shards.

…and I'm alive.


	4. IV

_I just wanted you to be happy_  
><em>with me<em>  
><em>I did everything to make you happy<em>  
><em>with me<em>  
><em>I had your<em>  
><em>letters, napkins, coffee drips<em>  
><em>saved<em>  
><em>with me<em>  
><em>I had your<em>  
><em>password, phone book, training underwear<em>  
><em>preserved<em>  
><em>with me<em>  
><em>I had your wedding ring<em>  
><em>ready<em>  
><em>with my name<em>  
><em>And we were going to be happy<br>_

* * *

><p>Oh no… No! No, this can't be what I think it is oh no no <em>no...<em>

I should have gone straight instead of taking the right turn! My gut feeling is never wrong. Ohhhh why didn't I listen to it _now_? Now I'm… I don't know. Am I… dead? Oh god… I could be unconscious. I could still be in the car, only knocked out. I can't really pinch my arm through the winter coat, but… No, pinching my arm hurts. So I'm awake? This is so confusing…

"Hello? Hello-oo…?"

Ohhh there's no one here! What do I do, what do I do? Am I dead, am I unconscious, I don't even know where I am!

Wait, wait: don't panic. Panic is bad. Just keep calm and think. What was it the scout leader always said? If you get lost, you should… God, I should have stayed with the scouts longer. But weren't you supposed to hug a tree? I don't see any trees. There's nothing here at a-

"Oh but sweetie what are you doing here?" Good thing I spotted that! Sheesh, what if I hadn't seen it and wandered off without Kevin's library card? It must have fallen out of my pocket. "Back you go in there~"

He's something, my Kev. He wouldn't know where anything was if I didn't keep track of him. I can't stand that distressed look he gets when he can't find his car keys. Or his wallet. Or his gym card. Really, he's something. But he's cute.

He always made me feel safe. Or maybe "complete" is what I really mean. Like, when you meet the other half of your soul and you just _know_. Kevin made me feel like that from the moment I saw him. It's not really something he does: just having him around calms me. Maybe it's his smell? He doesn't smell anything particular except that after-shave that I find a little too sharp. Maybe it's something faint that I felt subconsciously. Smell is the most powerful sense humans have, I read. Although, I read that on the web so I don't know how much I should trust it.

I wonder if Kevin is thinking about me. Maybe he's weeping. Maybe he's cradling my lifeless body in his arms right now and weeping into the snow.

My darling baby.

* * *

><p>Kevin likes his eggs over easy. They should only have a skin around them and then be all runny on the inside, so that when he cuts it is pours out over his breakfast plate. He likes them with one dash of white pepper and two dashes of salt, and two fresh thyme leaves on top. His cereals must be wholegrain, three fifths of the bowl and then light milk so that it just about reaches the topmost flakes. I usually cut some papaya for him to sweeten the cereals.<p>

Nobody knows my baby like I do.

God, I miss him so much…

* * *

><p>I know Kevin thinks about me. I keep finding things from him in the sand, as if he's sending them to me to comfort me. That's how strong our love is: even in death there's a connection between us.<p>

* * *

><p>I gave him this scarf on our half-year anniversary. It still looks practically new – he only uses it when I remind him. Silly boy, he knows he would forget it somewhere. I don't know how many times he has left it behind in restaurant bathrooms or on his seat at the movies. If I didn't keep an eye on what he wears he would have forgotten his own trousers, I'm sure of it.<p>

* * *

><p>Oh god, Kev… Yes, I remember when we had that argument. I remember when you said you had already decided to move out, that nothing could make you change your mind. But you did. You came back to me. You took this knife out of my hand when I was about to end myself. That's when I knew I couldn't live without you. You're my saviour. You're my everything.<p>

* * *

><p>Ohhh my pockets are full… But I can't leave it there. It's the paper coffee mug from our first date. I had a cappuccino and a blueberry tart, you had a macchiato.<p>

I love you so much it hurts.

* * *

><p>It's almost beautiful, this place. When you walk on the ridges of the sand dunes like this and you see far, far away. This is probably what things looked like in <em>Arabian Nights<em>. Maybe. I've never seen a real desert, but it should look like this, shouldn't it?

It's like it's always sunset here. Sunsets are so romantic. I've always wanted to have a romantic walk on the beach at sunset.

Now I'll never have one…

* * *

><p>"Hey! Hey, little lady!"<p>

Is that…? Is that a person? Oh thank god…!

It's a little risky to walk down the slopes here. The sand slides out from under your feet, and I can't brace a fall without dropping Kevin's gifts. I see this man wave at me from the dune across and slowly make my way down there. Sideways is best, one step at a time. Small steps. I got some of this sand into my shoes once – I don't want that to happen again. I pulled the grains out but it still hurts. I hope it doesn't get infected.

Suit jacket and military trousers? That's a combination I've never seen before. And a yellow rose in his jacket pocket. He's got a pair of combat boots hanging from his belt in a way that looks very uncomfortable, they bounce against his thigh with each step: I read that military boots have iron caps over the toes. They probably came with the trousers while the dress shoes he wears look like they belong with the suit. What an odd man.

_He's got a knife.  
><em>  
>No, what are they called, the big ones for the jungle? Machetes?<p>

Why does he have a-

"Hi there!" He looks friendly, though. Dishevelled, but friendly. "You're looking quite okay, all things considered – I mean hey, we're in Hell after all."

We're in…?

"Hell? But… Are you sure this is hell?"

His smile becomes confused – then he laughs, like I just told a joke.

"I like that! I like that! You're something, little lady. So, if we're not in Hell, then what do you think this is?" He throws his arms out, and there's a tear gaping in the dress shirt under the suit. "Heaven's beach resort? Playa del Paradiso?"

I don't know. How would I know? I haven't met anyone else here, I haven't had anybody to ask, I-!

"But… why would I be in hell?" I don't believe him. I don't want to. I don't even believe in hell, I haven't done anything wrong, ever – nothing that could get me _here_…!

"Forgot to ask at the reception desk?" he grins, and I assume it's a joke even though it isn't funny. I'm scared and he isn't funny. I want to get out of here and none of this is funny. I can feel panic building up because I always hiccup when I panic and now I'm starting to hiccup.

"I don't know – doesn't matter either, does it?" He shrugs, and I can't tell if his smile is a smile or if it's a grimace. "The past is the past, we are where we are and we gotta make the best of it. I'm Tony, by the way." He holds out a hand, and this time it's a smile. His hand has rings on almost every finger, some plain and some with precious stones set in them. "Sorry it's a leftie-handshake: my right's a little… yeah." His hand is wrapped with a dirty bandage when he lifts it. That really doesn't look sanitary. "You know what this sand's like. So what's your name?"

I can't take his hand without dropping Kevin's gifts, so I nod. I can't keep my eyes from going to the machete in his belt. I don't like weapons.

"Arundhati."

"Pretty name. You need any help with that?"

With carrying? Well, yes, but… no. I don't want help. These are my memories of Kevin, I don't want this stranger to touch them.

I don't even want him to look at them. These are _my _memories and his eyes are _prying _at them.

"Excuse me, but… these are private." I turn a little sideways to make my point.

"Sure thing, sure thing – I didn't mean to offend, just wanted to lend a hand." Tony's hands come up front, showing he has no intention of pushing further. "Sticking together is the best way of surviving here. You were looking at this, right?" The machete at his hip gives off a metallic ring when he pats it. "She's my best friend here. Keeps the demons from getting me. I've tried to think of a name but I was never really good at naming stuff. I had a goldfish when I was eight – my dad was allergic to fur animals. Named him Fishy. That's about how imaginative I am", he grins and shakes his head. "So, Arundhati: you got a weapon? Or a place to stay?"

"No. I don't have anything like that." I feel stupid, suddenly. I haven't even thought about that. That I'm even alive after this long is probably a fluke, with how I've been wandering around so thoughtlessly.

What if I had run into a demon? I have the fruit knife Kevin sent, I don't think that would be of much use. I would probably just hiccup…

"Well, you're welcome to stay at my place. It isn't Grand Hotel, but it's better than being out in the open. Like I said", he turns back in the direction he came from, tossing the last words at me over his shoulder, "sticking together is how you survive here."

I almost drop my gifts. The back of his head is all torn up, there's- there's skin _dangling_ from his scalp and bare skull underneath and…!

Does he even know he's injured?

* * *

><p>"So…" *hic* "How long have you been here?"<p>

"A while. Can't exactly tell time here. Found a watch here once but it had stopped."

"When I left, it was year-"

"No! No-hohoho little lady, we don't talk about that stuff here, no. See I figured out why that ol' watch had stopped. You know why it stopped? 'cause this is _eternity_." Tony throws out his arms and speaks in a husky voice all of a sudden, like someone who is telling a miraculous secret to a child. "And I'm gonna be here for eternity – hell it feels like I've been here an eternity already. If you tell me it's only been ten months or something in the land of the living I'm gonna crack in the head." Tony looks at me over his shoulder. Just a glance, as if he's making sure I'm still here. I still haven't asked about his head wound. I don't think I dare. "And believe me, you don't want to crack in the head. Then it's over. Finito. You lose your fighting spirit and it's only a matter of time before they get you. Ha-HAAAAA _time_! Got you again, Tony, got you good, ahahaaa 'time'…"

I don't like Tony when he does that. We've been walking for a while now, and he's friendly and all, but then sometimes he does that. He… bursts out random things that I don't understand. It scares me a little that he talks to himself like that. I don't know what else he might do when he does those sudden things but I don't know how I'll… I couldn't _run_ away, and I can't make up some excuse about being busy the way I do when the man at Wayne's Coffee asks me out. It was nice of him to offer me a place to stay where it's safe, it would be rude of me to suddenly change my mind and say I'd rather stumble around alone in the desert.

I don't want to stumble around in the desert. I don't want to go with Tony either. I want to go home.

I'm so glad you sent me these, Kev. It feels like a piece of home. Home… Oh I'm going to start crying…! I wanna go home! That's _all _I want! I wanna curl up with the blanket in our couch and I wanna lean on your shoulder and fall asleep to _Notting Hill_! I wanna hear you say you hate that movie! I wanna smell your Boss No. 6 cologne on the pillow when I wake up! I wanna sleep! I wanna eat!

I wanna… I wanna cry…

"Tony…" *hic* "Is there any way out of here?" I sound like I'm crying, but I'm not. I can't. I want _out of this place! _And Tony doesn't even stop, he doesn't turn around to comfort me, he doesn't do _anything _for me…!

"If there was a way out of here then I sure wouldn't be here, sweetie. I'd be in a villa on the Riviera with eight yappy Yorkshire terriers. Yeah that's where I'd be – but don't think about that, Tony. That's a nightdream in a daymare. Think too much about it and you'll crack. Actually, Arundhati, you should do the same."

I don't want to. I don't want to do anything he tells me, I just want to go home and be with Kevin.

"The more you cling to the past the sooner you'll crack. It's gone. You gotta crawl out of the cocoon and embrace your new self in a new life. New self, new world, new rules. And here we are, home sweet home~!"

Tony throws his arms out as if he's greeting the… I don't know what to call it. It looks like something out of a refugee camp in Africa. There's something that I think is supposed to be a tent strung up between some of those black rocks. It's made of everything he could find: blankets, clothes, aprons, plastic bags… assorted things, all tied together. There's assorted things strewn about the place. Someone must have sent Tony things the way Kevin sent things to me. There's teacups and rollerblades and more of the military apparel. It _is _home sweet home. You can actually build a home, even here, and if Kevin keeps sending me things then soon I can build a tent of my own and I won't have to live with Tony!

"You live here? It looks nice."

"Yeah, well, like I said: no Grand, but better than nothing. Feel free to put your stuff wherever you want, breakfast is served at eight thirty, no talking after midnight."

Tony chuckles at his own jokes again. He's looking at me and I don't know what he's seeing. He's looking at me weirdly. Is he waiting for me to put my gifts down? I don't know why, but I don't want to. I don't trust him. He might take my gifts.

Why is he looking at me like that…?

"Hahaaaa! I get it, I get it!" Oh no, he has one of those scary outbursts again. What do I do? What do I do what do I do? "It's greed, right? Your sin, it was greed – just look at how you're clutching that load of trash!"

He thinks he's funny. He thinks he's so funny.

He isn't. And this is not _trash_.

*hic*

"Look, Arundhati, I'm gonna tell you something, and it's something important so you better listen." Now he's all serious – I don't understand this man. Is he insane? I've never met an insane person. Is it his head wound? Is he acting…? "Sin is a parasite. A disease. It eats us. It eats in _here._" He taps a finger at his temple, taps hard, like he's trying to push through his skull and _god don't think about his skull_. "And you gotta stop feeding it right away, or it will eat all there is. Get it? There will be nothing of you left, only a sin that's never satisfied. You gotta stay human, right? You _wanna _stay human, don't you?"

Oh god I don't like when he looks at me like that why's he coming _closer_ I don't want him close!

"It's important to stay human, Arundhati." There's madness in his eyes. I don't doubt it anymore, I can't, he _is _mad. "It's so easy to lose oneself in this place. No laws, no society; we become animals if we don't remind ourselves to stay human. Try letting go. Trust me, let it go. Let it go. Let it go!"

He's taking my things! He's taking my- He's grabbing my wrists and he's going to take all my-!

*hic*

I… I don't know what happened there for a moment. Tony was trying to make me let go of Kevin's gifts and… I might have hit him. I don't know. But he's holding my wrists, and all my gifts are in the sand. I'm trembling. I'm, I…I want to reach down and pick my things up and I want to do it _so much_, I _have _to do it – it isn't natural. Or is it? I lost everything when I died, of course I want to preserve my things – _our _things – but maybe… this is the sin Tony meant?

"You feel it?" he asks me. His eyes are searching all over my face, darting back and forth and I don't know what he's looking for. Suddenly I don't know if he's sane and I'm the one who has gone off the cliff. "You do, right? You feel how it's trying to control you?"

I nod. What else am I supposed to do? He's holding both my hands and he has a machete and he might be insane _I _might be insane!

"Tony… _help_…"

_I don't know anything anymore._

*hic*

"Sshhh it's alright, I'm here. I'll help you."

I'm trembling. I don't know what's happening. I just want to leave this place. Tony is saying something but I can't hear him. He's leading me towards the tent and we're sitting on the jumbled fabrics under it. I feel my gifts calling to me from the sand, the emptiness is itching in my hands – is this sin? Am I being eaten alive? Is it too late for me?

_I want to sleep._

I want to fall asleep and get away from this. Just a few minutes – please? Just a-

_scream_

I don't. I can't.

Is it real? It can't be.

_It moved._

It's real. It's real, it's-real-it's-_real-it's-_

"Sshhh it's alright, Arundhati."

_Don't say my name like that._

But I don't say a word I don't even breathe because there's a- there's a _person _with-

"They're not humans", Tony tells me calmly.

And then I see there's two of them. They _look _human. I don't know, I don't know I don't know _I don't know!_

Humans, stripped naked on the fabric scraps under the tent baldachin. They have to be humans. I just wish they weren't oh _god _I wish they weren't! They have no feet, no hands, no- I can see their _bones_, cut off clean at ankles and wrists and packed in flesh and it's grey, like cheap minced meat when you cook it, all stuffed into skin like arm and leg sausages…!

M-minced… meat…

They're looking at me. Their arms and legs are bound, their mouths are filled with plastic bags, and they're looking at me.

They're looking at me like people who want to die.

"They're…"

"They were human." Tony speaks, and one of the not-humans makes gagged noises through the plastic. "Then sin took them. There's nothing you can do when sin takes 'em. They're not human anymore."

I don't want them to be human. _Why would I think such a horrible thing? _But I don't want them to be. They scare me and disgust me those maimed limbs I don't want to think about their pain but their eyes scream at me, plead to me, and I…

"Why are they alive…?" I whisper, because I don't want them to hear me. I don't want these men to be anywhere near me.

"'cause I'm no fucking killer, that's why." I shrink. Tony sounds angry and I shrink inwardly and wish I could disappear. "You calling me a killer, Arundhati?"

*hic*

"No." Machete. He's insane and he has a machete. _He's insane and he has a machete. _"I just thought… They're in a lot of pain."

I'm scared. Kev, I'm scared, please, I don't know what to do I don't know what this man is going to do and he's leaning closer to my face please Kev I-

*hic*

"You know who would be in pain if they weren't? _Me_. 'cause these fucks attacked me." The bound ones make noise again and I try not to listen, I try not to show Tony how scared I am. "These slimy little shits took advantage of my hospitality and tried to kill me." More noise, thin noise, desperate noise _please shut up!_ "This is Hell", Tony says, and I feel his breath against my face. "They're here 'cause they deserved it. We're all here 'cause we deserved it. Me, I just do what I gotta do to stay human and stay alive." Tony's eyes are drilling into my skull. "Got a problem with that?"

I shake my head. I can't breathe.

I have to get away from here.

"Oh Gluttonyyyyy~"

A woman? There's a woman here?

Tony's head turns sharply towards the voice; the torn skin flaps against his scalp. He looks at me again: distracted, rushed. Then he looks towards the voice.

"Right here, Mistress."

This might be my chance. If his attention is on this woman, I can-

_By the name of the gods that looks like Kali._

Stories childhood memories flood in I hear the ankle bells of Kali jingle jingle as she dances the world to destruction drinks the blood of her enemies and kills and kills and kills and

*hic*

I don't know what I'm doing I don't know what I'm doing I stumble over Tony but I don't care if he's hurt I have to get away – _home_, home home I wanna go home!

_Kevin's gifts!_

Just one tiny little memory to comfort me, I have to, just _one_! I scrabble for his favourite pen and while I'm at it I grab his scarf with my other ha-

"Not a chance!"

I fall flat under Tony's weight and I _scream_. The sand is pushing in through my winter jacket, in through my _face_ and

I can hear Kali laughing and

_is that me screaming?_

I sound like an animal, like a monkey in rage – I feel like one. I thrash, I kick, I shred my hands on the sand and Tony is straddling me and pushing me down he's screaming something but I can't hear him it's like a hurricane blowing in my head.

Kevin's knife. Kevin's knife is in the sand.

"_Thank you, baby!_"

I jam the knife in Tony's thigh and now I hear him scream I jam it in again and I use all force I have to wrench sideways onto his injured leg. I will live, I will live, I will get away and I will live!

I fall.

I have no left foot.

_OH GOD IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS!_

"See what happens when you become your sin? See what happens Arundhati? _You start killing people_."

Tony is above me and he's mad, he's looking at me like I'm mad but it's him that's mad god please please put the machete away I-!

"Good show, Gluttony. You can keep that one." Kali is dragging the others out of the tent, she's dragging them by their heads _oh god_…! "That torn-up look won't be good for business."

Her fingers are in their eye sockets. Like bowling balls.

*hic*

Tony isn't holding his machete anymore. I don't know when he put it away, it doesn't matter when he put it away. _I hurt_. My face, my body, my _leg_ is exploding and everything _hurts_ and I'm crying yet not crying, and Tony is unwrapping the bandage from his right hand.

"Tony, pl-uah _please_, Tony, Tony…!" He's not listening, I see it in his eyes.

_To him I'm insane._

His hand is on my chest – a tattoo? He had a tattoo under the bandage? What does-

"Stay human and stay alive." His eyes are frightened. His lips are quivering and his eyes are frightened. "That's all there is."

He knows I'm not insane. He _knows? _What's that light from his hand? What's happening?!

"Ton-"

_My ribs are breaki_


End file.
